


In The Woods Somewhere

by SmutPrince



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Animal Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15091151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutPrince/pseuds/SmutPrince
Summary: The first night after Ford disappears into the portal. Heavily inspired by the Hozier song by the same name.





	In The Woods Somewhere

Stanley didn't blink, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, the surrounding shack a deep blue color. Everything was dark, calm, empty. Stan felt as though he was suffocating in the loneliness of the night, his eyes streaming tears down his face, his chest feeling like someone was standing on him. He'd been like this for hours, having trashed Ford's home searching for the next book. He had no idea how many there were, how many he'd have to find, to pour through. It was all gibberish to him, none of it made any damn sense--but then again his brother had disappeared in a bright light after floating ten feet off the ground.

Stanley heaved at the memory, worrying his lower lip. Ford was right, he ruined everything.

Turning to his side, curling into a fetal position under his ratty brown jacket, Stan let the sobs overtake him. It felt like no matter how hard he let himself cry, there was still more tears to be shed. How did he know that Ford was even alive? The thought terrified him, but not as much as the thought of Stan on the other side of god knows where. God, he could still hear the fear in his voice--like nothing he'd heard before.

"Stanley! Help me!"

Stan sat upright almost immediately, his face stained with tears, eyes wide with terror. That wasn't his memory speaking.

"Stanley!"

The voice was clearer now, more pained and echoed in the small confines of Ford's woodland shack. Stan swung his legs over the side of the couch, his heart pounding so loudly he thought his blood vessels would burst from beneath his skin. He stared down at his legs, weak and trembling, then glanced at the clock. 1:05 That couldn't be him, could it?

" **STANLEY!** "

Stan's reaction was instantaneous. He threw himself off the couch, hitting the ground at full speed as he tore out the front door of the shack without abandon. The night was frozen, a blizzard hitting the small town of Gravity Falls; Stan wildly whipped his head side to side, eyes scouring the deep night. The moon was at its thinnest crescent, barely lighting the landscape. Stanley listened as hard as he could against the wind, silently begging for the shout to return.

“ _...Stanley._ ”

Ford. He was here. To the left. The left. Stan began tearing through the snow, kicking white into the air as he stumbled frantically towards the origin of the sound. The woods. Stan didn’t even notice the growing distortion of the voice as he cleared the treeline. Nothing but the thought of getting to Ford filled Stan’s mind. The cold was biting deeply into his exposed arms--he hadn’t thought, in his frantic determination, to grab his coat. The winter storm chilled Stan to the core, his pant legs soaked from the melted snow. He shuddered, his muscles cramping from how violently he shivered; but he didn’t relent. His brother was out there and, from what he could tell by his screams, he was in pain.

In the wood, the little light from the moon was obscured further, and Stan could barely tell up from down. The cries had stopped the moment he stepped into the forest, and as time crawled forward, Stan grew more and more terrified. Had he missed him? Was he still out here? Was Stan too late?

Stan stumbled hard this time, hearing a yelp in the snow. Leaping back, Stan stared down at the heaving form of what appeared to be a fox. Stan didn’t move, and the fox made no movement to escape. Upon further inspection, Stan saw why. There was a gash deep in it’s hind leg, the bone prominent white against the scarlet of its surroundings. The fox whined softly, laying its head back down in defeat. He’d given up.

Stan tore his eyes away from the gushing wound to search the forest. Nothing but the sights and sounds of winter at war greeted him. Ford wasn’t here. Stan glanced back down at the fox, grimacing. The thing was in obvious pain. A nearby rock, about the size of two of Stan’s fists, seemed to emerge from the white of the snow.

He’d end this thing’s suffering, it was the merciful thing to do. Stan grabbed the rock, and approached the fox, who didn’t stir from its panting. Its eyes were glazed over in pain, it didn’t even acknowledge Stan as he raised the rock over his head. It was the merciful thing to do.

Mercy.

The skull of the fox crushed with a sickeningly wet noise combined with the unforgettable sound of bones cracking and collapsing. The first blow did it for sure. The next five were overkill.

When all was said and done, Stan tossed the rock in the snow, breathing heavily, his nose running and he noticed he was crying again. He tried to ignore the blood splattering his shirt. He wiped absently at his pant leg, burying crimson into black material, as he tried not to look at the damage he’d done. Then something hit him.

What caused the wound? And where was it now?

Suddenly Stan could feel eyes on him, from every direction. It was bizarre, it only felt like one presence, but it was surrounding him. Stan heard a high pitched laugh from behind him, and turned to see the crescent of the moon through the trees as it gave birth to a solid blackness darker than the night itself, triangular in shape. And then, a single eye opened, a slit of a pupil rolling from behind and falling to stare down at him.

Stan trembled, hands wide and at his side. There was something deep in him, the base instinct of survival, not his consciousness, that made him turn tail and run. Stan felt his legs burn and go numb as he ran so fast and for so long. He couldn’t stop. He kept going for what felt like hours, feeling the eye that felt like millions on his back as he broke the forest edge into the clearing of the shack.

Stan gasped for air, falling to his knees, unable to move without a moment’s rest. The feeling of being watched was distant, though not entirely gone. Stan sat up from the snow, disoriented and scanned the area around him, seeing no threat. He didn’t dare glance back to the wood. Arising to his feet, he stumbled back into the shack, slamming the door behind him. He glanced at the clock. 1:08 AM


End file.
